_Barlow_ (_dryly_). Jennie hasn't thrown you over yet.
_Jennie_ (_sniffing airily_). Yes, she has, too. I wouldn't marry him now for all the world--an'--an' I've lost--lost Hicks. (_Weeps._) Him as was so brave, an' looks so fine in livery!
_Yardsley._ If you'd only give me a chance to say something--
_Barlow._ Appears to me you've said too much already.
_Dorothy_ (_coldly_). I--I don't agree with Mr. Barlow. You--you haven't said enough, Mr. Yardsley. If you have any explanation to make, I'll listen.
_Yardsley_ (_looks up gratefully. Suddenly his face brightens. Aside_). Gad! The very thing! I'll tell the exact truth, and if Dorothy has half the sense I think she has, I'll get in my proposal right under Barlow's very nose. (_Aloud._) My--my explanation, Miss Andrews, is very simple. I--ah--I cannot deny having spoken every word that Jennie has charged to my account. I did get down on my knees on the rug. I did say "divine creature." I did not put it strong enough. I should have said "divinest of _all_ creatures."
_Dorothy_ (_in remonstrance_). Mr. Yardsley!
_Barlow_ (_aside_). Magnificent bluff! But why? (_Rubs his forehead in a puzzled way._) What the deuce is he driving at?
_Yardsley._ Kindly let me finish. I did say "I love you." I should have said "I adore you; I worship you." I did say, "Will you be my wife?" and I was going to add, "for if you will not, then is light turned into darkness for me, and life, which your 'yes' will render radiantly beautiful, will become dull, colorless, and not worth the living." That is what I was going to say, Miss Andrews--Miss Dorothy--when--when Jennie interrupted me and spoke the word I most wish to hear--spoke the word "yes"; but it was not her yes that I wished. My words of love were not for her.
_Barlow_ (_perceiving his drift_) Ho! Absurd! Nonsense! Most unreasonable! You were calling the sofa the divinest of all creatures, I suppose, or perhaps asking the--the piano to put on its shoes and--elope with you. Preposterous!
_Dorothy_ (_softly_). Go on, Mr. Yardsley.
_Yardsley._ I--I spoke a little while ago about sand--courage--when it comes to one's asking the woman he loves the greatest of all questions. I was boastful. I pretended that I had that courage; but--well, I am not as brave as I seem. I had come, Miss Dorothy, to say to you the words that fell on Jennie's ears, and--and I began to get nervous--stage-fright, I suppose it was--and I was foolish enough to rehearse what I had to say--to you, and to you alone.